Prose for the Blue—Mask Best
by Son Rhandi
Summary: A bit of background story for Kevin Mask and Mars (EskaraScarface). PG for a bit of swearing.


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Disclaimer: The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. My name is Son Rhandi and I... don't own Ultimate Muscle/Kinnikuman II.

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Notes: 1) This is for Xaphania, who asked me to write a Kevin Mask fic, and, of course, Muscle fans everywhere. Here's to you guys and to my new friend, Kevin Mask, who is one bad ass wrestler. (I don't think this is one of my better fics, though...)

2) I have mixed feelings about that fellow, Scarface (Eskara) If you think about it, he'd have to be incredibly intelligent to recognize the flaws in other wrestler's moves and then correct them/make the move itself more effective, and I admire that. But then again, he mussed my boy Jaeger up... Oh, well.

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Prose for the Blue-Mask Best

By Son Rhandi

Kevin Mask, Kevin Mask, the wandering son of Robin. Neither a place on Earth or in space for the man. Rejecting a life of harsh training from his father, he set about as a degenerate fighting in the streets of London. He finally found a place, it seemed, in the ranks of the dMp. He had his acquaintances, but preferred spending his time with Mars, that tough-talking, ne'er-bested, Number One wrestler of his weight class. He still remembered the day they met. It was a free day—dMp used the popular Roman calendar, seven days per week, the end day being the students' own time—and all the hard-up wrestlers used the day to have practice matches with one another. Of course, there were those such as Mars who took things a little too seriously. In any case, Kevin was only there to watch, not to participate. 

"Hey, now! Who else wants to try an' take me on? Come on, you guys! I don't bite; It's against the rules..!" 

It was like this every weekend. They'd all go up to the training grounds to hold a 'friendly' match or two, but as soon as ol' Mars got in on the action, well... the nurse's station got awfully busy. That cock o' the rock paraded around the ring, his arms upstretched in a partial flex. "Come on now, fellas. I'm itchin' for a fight, here!" He spied about the crowd of men for fresh meat. "Hey, you! The dude wearin' the blue bucket on his head!" Kevin Mask looked up. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. I see you around here a lot, but never in the ring." He stuck out his thumb and gestured for him to come forward. "Get up here, nancy boy."

Kevin scoffed and looked away. Mars sneered. "What kind of wrestler are you, huh, refusing a challenge? Coward!"

He couldn't ignore that. To publicly call him a coward was a slap in the face. Kevin hopped the ropes and joined the challenger in the ring. The larger man extended his hand. "Mars."

"Kevin Mask." The Englishman returned his grip. 

"Well, now. Ain't that somethin'... I'm wrestlin' with Robin Mask's little boy." He licked his teeth and rubbed his hands together. "You know, you'll be the fifteenth guy to lose to me today."

"Lose to **you**?" The armor-clad fellow said, indignantly. "Well, if we're going to play like that, I'll be the first man to beat you in a match..!"

"Heh. I doubt that. Hey! Somebody start it up!" 

He was off with the ding of the bell, charging friend Mask like the devil himself. Mars started off with a clothesline, to which Kevin Mask ducked artfully, then countered with a back flip atop his opponents shoulders locking his legs around his neck. The imbalance in weight caused Mars to topple over and fall face-flat to the mat. The masked man stomped on his back and wrenched the red bird's arms behind him. Unfortunately for Kevin, he couldn't prevent the bird from using his legs. Even with Mask's additional weight, he managed to curve his back enough to lock his legs around the Englishman's waist from behind. Kevin dropped his grip on Mars' arms, which, in turn, gave Mars the opportunity to perform his desired move. He swung his legs over his head, performing a handstand, then let his legs fall forward and smashed his opponent's head into the mat, a sort of reverse suplex of the legs. The damage was minimal, thanks to the traditional mask of Masks. Returning to his feet, Kevin turned to meet Mars once again...

"Swallow Tail!!"

...and narrowly missed being skewered by Mars' coattails-turned-daggers. In the time that it took Mask to recover, that red bird of prey found the time to jump from one of the turnbuckles and launch himself at Kevin Mask with his Swallow Tail. Kevin hissed and clutched his left side. Mars had managed to snag his flesh with that move of his. Bleeding a bit, but he could manage. 

"Hey, Mask, you're pretty fast," Mars called over his shoulder. "Most wrestlers wouldn't have been able to react quick enough to get out of the way. Lucky you, eh?"

"Yeah, lucky me..."

They began again, charging each other and locking arms like in the wrestling of yesterday. Kevin hopped and swung his knee upward, clocking Mars in the jaw. The bird released his grips and instinctively brought his hand to the point of injury. It was in the bag now. With what little time he had, Kevin Mask pulled Mars forward by the two frays hanging alongside his face and launched him into the air, setting his opponent up for the Tower Bridge. As the bird fell, he managed to twist his body enough to send a kick to Kevin's head. Mask, taking into account that possibility, caught his leg and swung him around, sending him crashing into the top of the turnbuckle, his back molding painfully to then body falling to the mat. Kevin readied himself 

for the next assault, but only found Mars writhing in excruciating pain on the canvas, screaming himself hoarse and obviously unable to continue. The match was declared to Mask, then. Through all the pain, though, a single notion ran through that bird of prey's head: He had actually lost a match......

The next day in class, Kevin took his seat towards the front, as usual. It was first come, first served, so he liked to get there early and have his choice. His side still hurt from Mars' Swallow Tail, and constantly checked to make sure the bandages were tight enough. Finding those to his satisfaction, he arranged his papers for the day's notes. Yesterday's opponent slunk in early for a change, and quietly moved to a seat behind Mask. "It's only by god-given luck that you managed to beat me, Kevin Mask..."

"I'm glad you acknowledge it," Kevin responded, keeping his back to the bird. "You seemed like the type who'd deny any failures." Mars' face faulted but he said nothing in response. "I've watched almost all your matches, seen your techniques," he continued. "You're so conspicuous in everything you do, it's hard not to take notice."

"So, you're saying it's hard to take your eyes off me?" Mars chuckled as he twisted Kevin's words. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't dig guys."

"Ha ha... Now, **there's** a surprise..."

"Hmph. I didn't think you had a sense of humor. You're tough in the ring, I'll give you that, but you're still a nancy boy **and** a pantywaist, Mask. A true dMp man wouldn't have spared me."

"I guess that's where we differ, friend Mars. I don't kill needlessly, especially in practice matches."

"Ha ha! Then what are you doing here? You're surrounded by killers who don't give a damn whether the opponent's a man or a mouse!"

The Englishman refused to believe his words, believing that there was some undisputed, redeeming quality instilled among those of the dMp. Mars didn't seem angered, more like humbled from the experience, at least while in the presence of Kevin Mask. His only weakness, a slipped disc in his lower back never totally fitting back into place, the result of falling from a tree as a child, had been revealed by one lucky hit in the right spot. His mentality as God's gift to wrestling, as king of the ring, it all but dissipated with that one fluke of a practice match. "It doesn't matter, anyway," Mars let out as a partial yawn, settling into his seat. "It was only a practice match I lost, not my resolve. I've got plans, big ones!"

The Englishman scoffed. "What sort of plans could **you** possibly have?"

"Just you wait, Kevin Mask. I'm going to rule this place one day. And when that's settled, I'm gonna smash the **hell** out of those gung-ho Muscle Leaguers!" 

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"I refuse to believe it. There is no way that the Kinniku-Buster is the ultimate move. Its execution alone suggests that it can be broken with the correct head movements."

"That's true. The Kinniku-Buster isn't perfect. In fact, there was one who managed to best it. If you swear to never tell, I'll let you in on it."

"I swear on my life."

"Alright then. Buffalo Man was the one to successfully counter the Kinniku-Buster, Kinnikuman's signature move. He called it the 'Number Crunch', a shifting of weight in mid-air to literally turn the Buster upside-down so that the opponent could be the one to execute it. I heard that Suguru—er, Kinnikuman settled down and had a son. If you ever meet up with him in the ring, you'll know what to do. This information I've given you was supposed to be kept secret, but you're my son and I trust you. Please, guard this secret with your life."

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"Move it along, Mask. I can't go on unless you keep movin'..."

Kevin was on the verge of passing out. He had never been so frightened in his twenty years of life. The stench of death hung tight in the air, or maybe it was the sulfuric fumes. They **were** clinging to life by a spiked log over a lava pit, after all. It didn't help to have weights hanging from his feet, either. 'Hot' couldn't even begin to describe the environment. 'Blistering' would have been a better term, but not by much. His hands, so sweaty and tired, lost their strength and slipped, his heart skipping a beat as he felt gravity do its thing. Kevin gave a little yelp as his descent was suddenly brought to a halt. Mars literally lent a hand, digging his fingers into Kevin's wrist.

"You ready to die, Mask? You don't seem too well-adjusted to the idea." The bird chuckled.

"Stop fooling around and pull me up!"

"Oh, no, no, no... This is payback, Mask..." Mars began swing his arm side to side and Kevin Mask with it. "Thanks to you throwing me into that turnbuckle, everyone who watched that match knows my weak spot. I can't have practice matches anymore, and I really enjoyed those..! I should let you die..."

The Englishman began to panic. "Please, Mars!" He pleaded. "I'll do anything! You say you want to run this place, crush the Muscle League? Kinnikuman has a son—a wrestler like him! I can tell you how to best the Kinniku-Buster, but not if I'm **dead**!"

This caught the bird's interest. "Is that so? Well, I'll believe you." Mars swung Kevin's body upward and slung it along an unspiked part of the log. "Enjoy the rest of your life, Kevin Mask."

Kevin wanted to throw up. He swore to his father that he wouldn't tell **anyone** the secret to beating the Kinniku-Buster, swore on his life. But in order to save his life, he swore to Mars he'd tell... He had little time to despair, that Englishman. The other side of the pit awaited and if he didn't make it soon, he was sure he would black out. When the danger had passed and his feet touched solid ground, he silently bathed in self-pity, stewed in self-reproach. Another year went on, and with the word of the new additions to the Earth Team of Japan, he set off with Tel-Tel Boy and Max Man to the blue planet to make some noise. 

Perhaps the dMp wasn't the place for him, after all. That belief that each member had at least one redeeming quality went flying out the window as he watched Max Man's match with Seiuchin, that old pinniped. Seeing that there was no sense of honor and fair play among the dMp, he abandoned the faction, but not without making it clear that he wasn't siding with Muscle League, either. Once again a loner, a vagabond, he set out, no clear destination in mind. 

To you, friend Kevin Mask, may you find your place among wrestlers one day.


End file.
